Yearning
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: A Christmas piece: What a difference a year makes...


_Have a blessed Christmas! -K**  
**_

**Yearning**  
K Hanna Korossy

_Christmas 2010_

The microwave dinged.

Bobby opened the door to pull out the reheated roast chicken. It joined the roll, green beans, and mashed potatoes with gravy that was already on the table, courtesy of Boston Market. One of Miss Cora's delicious cherry pies was keeping warm in the oven, adding to the array of warm scents in the kitchen.

Bobby got out a plate and knife and fork, followed by a beer from the fridge. Then he sat down at the table and stared at the bounty of food.

He wasn't the least bit hungry.

The year before, the house had been full: Sam making some lethal eggnog, Dean decorating the small tree with some of the most ridiculous-looking homemade ornaments Bobby had ever seen, even Castiel stopping in to say hi. It'd been a real family holiday.

Then Sam had taken Lucifer down into the cage. And as if he'd been the glue that had held them all together, Dean had drifted away and Castiel went back to Heaven, or wherever. Sam had returned since then, God knew how, but he was a new man, darker, harder. He hadn't even looked up his brother, and Bobby had finally decided maybe it was better that way.

Still meant their little family was splintered, seemingly for good.

"Merry Christmas," Bobby muttered to the silence, and determinedly served up the chow.

00000

Dean sat staring at the phone in his hand.

"Babe?"

He flinched at the sound of Lisa's voice and looked up. "Yeah. Sorry. 'S it time?"

"Almost." She smiled at him, softly, the smile he knew meant she felt badly for him. "Did you call Bobby?"

"No." He snapped the cell shut and slid it into his pocket. Dean cleared his throat. "No, I'm sure he's busy."

He could also tell she saw through his lie; it was weird to know someone well enough to read them, to be read in turn. Someone besides Sam.

_…a small smile, a nod at Dean, and then he lifted his hands up, closed his eyes, and fell back—_

"—me set the table?"

Dean shook his head. "What? Oh, yeah. Sure." He smiled, sort of.

Lisa smiled back at him, echoing his pain.

The grief, the depression, the hopelessness never stopped, but today he was also reminded of where he'd been a year before: Bobby's, with Sam. Sammy, who was now suffering horrible torment in Lucifer's cage while Dean carved the turkey and opened gifts. How was he supposed to—?

"Dean? You coming?" Ben, hopeful and excited.

"Yeah." The word cracked. Dean cleared his throat again. "Yeah, kiddo, be right there."

That was how. That, and a promise he'd made.

"Only for you, bitch," Dean whispered raggedly to nobody, then heaved himself up off the sofa and went to play his part.

00000

He'd always thought of Hell as a place of horrific pain. But physical pain was the easy part. The worst was the emotional torment.

The flaying of his conscience with every sin he'd committed, every person he'd hurt. The scourging of his feelings, grief and depression and fear, until they were unbearably raw. And most of all, the utter absence of hope, of any possibility of relief. Ever.

There were no screams, no tears, no words for that.

"Are we having fun yet, Sam?" Lucifer asked with a hard smile.

"Dean," Sam whimpered, a word that had lost all meaning but was the one thing that still provided a tiny kernel of self-comfort, then sobbed dryly as the flames turned on him once more.

00000

Castiel watched the events in Hell from his perch in Heaven, and felt something disturbingly human stir in him.

It wasn't as if he could have raised Sam body and soul from Hell. It had been hard enough to retrieve Dean, and he hadn't been in a cage capable of containing the Prince of Hell. And the shell of Sam Winchester who hunted now with his family was all Castiel could have hoped for: efficient, driven, unquestioning. His soul continued to suffer horribly, true, but every soul in torment was a cause for grief.

The Winchesters, however, had always gotten to him in a way Castiel could not understand.

He turned his attention to Dean, who was eating and talking and even laughing in his new home. But it was clear even to Castiel that the levity was merely an act, and a difficult one at that, masking a heart that was black with anguish. A year before, Dean had also eaten and talked and laughed, but it had been with real joy and contentment then, and some part of Castiel mourned the difference.

Bobby also celebrated alone, in mockery of this season of family. Castiel watched as the hunter, bowed with more than years, scraped a nearly full plate into the trash and dropped back into his seat with a bottle of liquor in hand. As much as he had complained last year, he'd sincerely welcomed Castiel into his home, prepared food with great energy, and had seemed to take much pleasure in scolding the Winchesters. None of that animation was present anymore.

Castiel still did not understand why the Sam he had brought back had not gone to see his brother to ease his pain, but perhaps that came from the absence of a soul. Still, the figure lurking outside the Braeden home did not escape Castiel's notice. Perhaps the yearning for loved ones, for those to celebrate with, went deeper than a soul.

Perhaps that was why he missed humans, a few of them in particular.

"Forgive me," he uttered into the peaceful quiet, then turned back to Heaven's business once more.

00000

Sam didn't know why he was there.

Okay, yes, he did swing by Dean's every time he was in the area to make sure his brother was all right and there was no demonic activity in the area. It was too ingrained in him not to, the result of a lifetime of training, of memories. Sometimes he even pretended it was because he cared.

But he knew the truth. He felt no love, no concern, not even affection for his brother, nor anyone else for that matter. Didn't know why, didn't care.

So why had he made a two-state detour to stand outside this window and watch the cozy scene within while he shivered outside? Christmas was no different from any other day of the year, right? Just another tribute to sentimentality and consumerism. Yet there he lingered, watching his brother from afar, cold and alone. Wishing he was inside. Wishing for…

Sam cocked his head, considering. He remembered the year before, Christmas at Bobby's with plenty of good food and even better drinks and riotous storytelling. Dean had gotten him an iPhone, and Sam had consulted with Bobby and ordered a set of premium tires for the Impala. Cas had come by to join the festivities, and Bobby had completely nonplussed him by giving him a gift, a new tie. And Sam had been…he'd been happy. He had his brother with him, still had some hope of finding a way to beat Lucifer, and he'd felt…joy.

Sam missed feeling joy.

Emotions were mostly a pile of crap. Who wanted to feel hurt, or grief, or guilt? He was far better off without them. But feeling safe, a sense of belonging, and joy, the kind of joy that had suffused Sam this day last year…

Through the window, Dean raised a glass in some kind of toast and then drained it. His eyes were creased, his movements tight: Sam could tell he wasn't happy despite appearances, not even close.

"Joy to the World," he muttered, then turned his collar up and headed back to his car.

00000

_Christmas 2011_

"Bye, buddy." Dean smiled wistfully as he folded his phone and put it away.

"You tell Ben I said hi?" Sam asked, looking up from where he was placing marshmallows on top of the sweet potatoes. In neat, exact rows.

Dean's eyebrows went up at the sight. "OCD much?" At Sam's scowl, he answered, "Yeah. He says hi back."

"Did you talk to Lisa?" Sam actually abandoned his important work for the moment to give Dean his full attention.

"Naw, she was busy with guests," Dean said offhandedly.

Yeah, Sam didn't buy that, either.

Seeing sympathy in eyes that had been cold so many months was still a thrill, though, and made Dean smile in spite of himself. "You think Bobby got lost in the attic?"

"Woulda been faster if I'd had some help," the older man's grumble came from behind him.

They both turned to the kitchen doorway to see Bobby staggering in under the weight of a large box. Dean quickly jumped to help him, while Sam grinned and returned to his marshmallows.

"These all gifts for us?" Dean asked with a grin. "Bobby, you shouldn't have."

"Don't worry, I didn't." Bobby lifted the top off the cardboard storage box and eyed the contents. "Christmas decorations, stuff Karen and I used to put up. Figured it was time to put them to use again."

Dean's grip shifted to a more firm hold as his face slid from teasing to understanding. "You sure?"

"I'm not climbing any ladders," Bobby warned.

"No, yeah, I got it." Dean threw one excited smile over his shoulder at Sam, then disappeared into the living room to unpack his treasure.

Sam smiled after him and shook another handful of marshmallows from the bag.

"You know you don't have to line those up so—" At Sam's look, Bobby reconsidered. "That brother of yours finish the gravy yet?"

"On the stove," Sam said, nodding toward the saucepan. As Bobby went over to check, Sam hesitated, then continued quietly, "Thanks for having us here, Bobby."

Bobby looked back at him critically. "Sam, I told ya, I'm not blaming you for what the soulless version of you did."

"That's not what I…" Sam shook his head. "Okay, yeah, I'm grateful for that, too, but…I know these last couple of years haven't been easy and, just…I'm glad you haven't changed the locks or anything."

"Like that would stop you," Bobby muttered, then shifted uncomfortably. "Sam—"

"Look who I found hanging around outside," Dean's voice cut in. He returned to the kitchen, arm hooked around a figure in a rumpled trench coat. "Our very own Christmas angel."

Castiel held up a flat box. "I brought pie," he said gravely.

"He brought _pie,"_ Dean repeated with a grin.

"Oh, well, in _that_ case…" Bobby rolled his eyes. To Dean he continued, "Don't just stand there, ya idjit, bring in an extra chair."

Dean started, then disappeared into the other room.

"Hey, Cas, how's the war going?" Sam asked as he worked.

"It is…" Cas's head tilted as he examined the sweet potatoes. "What are you doing?"

"That's Sam's idea of gourmet cooking," Bobby said dryly.

"I think it's an art project," Dean chimed in, dragging Bobby's desk chair behind him.

"It's the _right_ way to do it," Sam huffed.

Castiel frowned. "I don't understand." He only looked more bewildered when the others started to laugh, and Sam and Dean launched into a marshmallow battle.

It was exactly what they'd all been missing.

**The End**


End file.
